


expedite the ride

by discofxck (jericheaux)



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Established Relationship, Gun Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 06:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericheaux/pseuds/discofxck
Summary: There is Hal, Dave, another nondescript apartment, and an old .45 pistol.





	expedite the ride

**Author's Note:**

> OOF i have not written fanfic let alone porn in a VERY long time but mgs is moving me... im still too busy to write anything legit as much as i want to so heres a rusty experiment w them... hope u like it! i definitely want to write a Lot more (serious) otasune when im not... drowning in work...

Dave barely looks up as Hal enters, shutting the creaky door with his foot and jangling his key-ring in his mouth, hopping to the kitchen with a bag of groceries and a gallon of milk. Hal sets his things down on the dining room table and shuffles to put his shoes by the door, awkwardly pausing in the middle of the room to peer at Dave. 

He's relaxed on their lumpy mattress they call a bed, methodically polishing a .45 pistol and staring at an open laptop screen. Hal recognizes it as the one he keeps solely for anime torrents- a cheap little device that functions as an indulgence in their world. He's also happily familiar with the Japanese mecha tones that spill out of the tinny speakers. 

"What?" Dave grunts and Hal splits into a smile. They're still figuring out their relationship with conversations much deeper than anything Hal wants to think about after the anxiety of existing in the outside world; even at the grocery store, without Dave. Instead, he hones in on the gentle domesticity, and kicks off his old sneakers and pads over to join Dave in his show. 

"I got some dried fruit. Soups too. And a pack of Lucky Strikes," Hal offers, unfolding his tangle of long limbs to prop himself adjacent to Dave, his eyes targeted at the screen. Through thick glasses, he notes how Dave clearly untenses when Hal is near, how his muscles unclench and his reclining position is no longer a facade. 

"Thank you," Dave replies, periodically switching his fixation from what they're watching to the gun in his hands. He massages it with an oiled rag, his callused fingers gripping the barrel, and something clicks in Hal. The way Dave slides his fingerpads gently over the nicked casing awakens something in Hal's lizard brain, the pieces of him that respond to fear and danger in a not-so-normal way.

Hal fights to obey the instinct to move, the need to get away from the heat building under his shirt collar and the sudden pressure in the pit of his stomach. Since they first met Hal has been acutely aware of the damage Dave's strong hands can bring- either by gun, or knife, or by being wrapped around Hal's slight throat in a grip that causes his vision to blur. He also knows of the comfort in those hands, in the way they hold Hal's, in the way they bring glasses of water and vitamin pills to him when he's worked himself dead on hacking. 

He wonders if it would be too selfish to ask for a bit of both. 

Dave seems to pick up on the sudden change in the air. He quirks his eyebrows, thins his mouth in a line that Hal recognizes as the gears in his head turning. 

"This gun's no good, you know. I kept it for parts," Dave says, and Hal watches as he clicks the safety on anyway. 

"Hm," Hal mumbles, trying to mentally disperse the blush he knows is crawling across his cheeks. A spike of arousal shoots through him in response to the curvature of Dave's biceps as he strains with a particular patch to be buffed out. 

Dave closely studies Hal's face for a minute and then sighs. 

"God, Hal." 

He sets the gun to his side and leans forward to press a soft kiss to Hal's lips. Hal quickly reciprocates, shifting to slot his leg between Dave's, the worn material of his joggers rubbing on equally old sweatpants. Dave's high libido means Hal is becoming accustomed to the kisses that pepper his neck and ears throughout the day, the scratch of stubble on his inner thighs, the specific way Dave arches under him when Hal fucks him to completion. 

When the kiss breaks Hal brings himself to rest his head on Dave's stomach, his hands draped around him protectively. There's a few smudges on his glasses that he takes care of by cautiously tossing them onto the carpet a few feet away. He blinks to adjust as Dave curls one of his arms around him, reaching over to inspect the .45 one final time. 

Hal inevitably, reflexively burrows his head down when Dave resumes his work on the hunk of metal. 

"Is something the matter?" Dave asks, his tease tinged by genuine concern. 

"Gah," is all Hal manages, then pushes himself up to fold his hands on Dave's chest, his head balanced on top. "I- I don't know. Just something about seeing you handle that gun, I guess." He immediately starts chewing on the inside of his cheek when he's done talking to prevent himself from saying anything more.

"Do you want it in your mouth?" Dave asks, calmer than he has any right to be. 

"What-?" Is all Hal manages, clipped short by the sudden rush of blood in his head. And heart. And dick. 

"Do you want. It. In your mouth," Dave tries again, his fingers combing through the top of Hal's dry curls. 

"Yes," Hal answers, and slips into that state of mind where the only thing that matters is Dave's reassuring touch accompanied by the complete solidity of his body, the feeling of being flush against his back or stomach in a mutual exchange that both of them understand as being deeper than just sex. 

Before Hal can reconsider Dave has the muzzle resting on Hal's cheek. It's colder than he expected, slightly greasy from Dave's treatment, and Hal can feel himself getting hard at the steely look in Dave's eyes. He knows the gun is out of commission, that its safety is on anyways, but the association- the expected pain- is more than enough to send his adrenaline system into overdrive. 

Dave's breath audibly hitches when Hal lowers his eyes and shifts to let his lips encircle the rough metal. He gets over the weird iron taste and focuses entirely on the way his lips burn slightly as Dave pushes it further in his mouth. It bumps behind his teeth, a scrape that brings a sudden tear to his eye from unexpected pain, and Dave murmurs, low and taut. 

Hal breaks away to prop himself sitting on Dave's lap, his knees to his hips, and he gently wraps his hand around Dave's wrist to guide the .45 back to his mouth before settling his hands at Dave's sides. He sucks the first few inches, leaving it coated in saliva and his jaw aching when Dave unceremoniously shoves more in. 

Dusk light seeps in through the mottled windows and casts shadows across Dave's body, a dark line that follows Hal as he sinks his hips lower, settling himself by grinding on Dave's cock. A moan slips out of Hal as the bite of metal is combined with the feeling of Dave's cock hard under his ass when he draws his head back and the gun shines wet and slippery. Hal feels fire flood through him, the unmistakable tingling in the back of his skull when Dave takes his free hand and digs it into Hal's hair, right above his neck, and pulls. 

Hal hisses and juts his head back, Dave's skillful hand making sure the gun accompanies him, there's a clack as Hal's teeth make contact. Hal's entire body is aware, sensitive, so that when Dave mindlessly starts to jut his hips up against Hal's ass it feels like something close to relief. Dave tugs his hair again, forcefully, and Hal shivers, feeling the rough scratch of the muzzle closer to his throat, to where his gag reflex starts complaining. The barrel is forced deeper than that, Dave moves it roughly now, drinking in the raspy, deep breaths that Hal emits when he can. 

The .45 slips from his mouth and Hal coughs a bit. Dave's hand rubs the side of his neck in comfort. Soon his mouth meets Hal's and nuzzles for sweet kisses that are gladly given with a soft smile. When Hal opens his eyes again, the gun is set to the side and Dave grins widely. 

"Jesus, Dave," Hal laughs breathlessly. "I'm gonna have a sore throat." 

"It's nothing I haven't given you before," Dave chides, and Hal flusters, switching his attention to pressing open-mouthed kisses to Dave's neck that fast become bites. 

As he sucks on Dave's neck Hal considers that it's definitely sort of sick of him to get off on Dave fucking his mouth with a gun. At least Dave is just as sick, in that sense. There's a weird Pavlovian quality to what they do- a mutual act and reward system, activated by a spark that ignites when Dave sees how Hal reacts to him handling a .45, or fixing a car, or; when Hal catches how Dave looks when he sees him fidgeting with minuscule computer parts.

Dave's hand snakes down Hal's pants while the other pulls him from his neck to wipe his lower lip with his thumb before gifting him another, chaste kiss- Hal makes a pleased sort of purr and leans into Dave's touch, capturing and storing the image of his affectionate eyes. 

The world churns outside, but in here, their play is safe and their tentative love is becoming tangible.


End file.
